Ixchel’s children

bury me standing feet
rooted nowhere sleep eludes
me walking forever before
Cain’s sin gave rise
to grief that flows
my blood in history
am i not a
star child too nomad
in the mystery of
God like child in
birth to surf the
skies where serpents lay
in slumber this universe
was made for multiple
stars to shine at
smiles so bright that
return the favor blindly

for Vicente

I

crows gather to drink

water from the dirty street

i sit in waiting

II

footsteps upon the

main entrance of the lonely

church tread on holy

III

visions in my head

i see the cock will crow once

more and they will come

IV

to find us where we

are gathered in the sacred

house and take us with

V

their dirty decrees

it happened in the east first

it’s in the west now

Rexall

on the table is a word
followed by dozens of
other words lying next
to each other in lines of
instruction, warning and
grief

although the moon has
dropped her pretty face
i pick her up by her wise
chin and beg her to shine
again

the stars in my moon’s
hair dance like beams
in a driven stony river
where the bones of time
soak unto the soil of my
bloods